


Squish

by divisionten



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Lost in Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/pseuds/divisionten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An EMP leaves Gamora weakened to her old self without her augmentations, and Rocket in what seems to be a coma, and now the team needs to figure out just what Rocket needs until he's back to normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pharm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pharm/gifts).



This wasn’t what Peter was expecting. He knew EMP blasts could destroy electronics; when the Ravagers realized early on how important his Walkman was to him, they made sure to get it properly serviced to prevent a blowout.

But one morning, after a battle when he was… 10 maybe? 12? and a rival gang threw EMP bombs at them, turning half their weapons to useless scrap (because, as Peter found out later, EMP proofing something was prohibitively **_expensive_** , giving him a small ego boost that they’d done it for his music player before another crew member’s gun), Yondu was pissy for at least two weeks after. And the orange thing ( _frill_ , they’d corrected, and never say _thing_ to his face unless you want that arrow through your skull) on the crown of his head didn’t light up.

Turns out you can’t EMP proof electronics _inside_ somebody. Just wait for them to restart on their own or surgery to put in new ones.

And, with Groot still a sapling, that meant half his team was really freaking vulnerable to EMPs.

Gamora’s systems were merely augmentations like Yondu’s, better hearing, better sight, additional healing and survivability in extreme temperatures, so a blast to her just sent her back down to species normal. Which was still powerful, especially since she’d trained on sims where her cybernetics were turned off just for the practice.

Rocket had no such luck, his cybernetics taking up a good portion of his body. The skin, muscle, sinews, were Rocket… but what about his cognitive function? Rocket didn’t really want to bring it up, and Peter spent many graveyard shifts trying to come up with a contingency if Rocket’s electronics went offline.

Would he be a raccoon? Like, an actual hissing, tree-climbing raccoon? Would he just be in some kind of coma? What would he remember?

Secretly, he squirreled away a small pet crate and some teething toys, just in case. They were hidden in storage with Groot’s original small white pot. There if needed, but hoping that he’d never see a need for owning them.

Rocket insurance, if you will.

Turns out, what happened to Rocket when his electronics got fried was way worse.

The smoke cleared, and thankfully, Drax and Gamora’s proficiency with bladed weapons and brute force meant the thugs were down in short order, leader wrapped up nicely in plastic bindings, trussed like a turkey dinner. Or large swaprat, since turkeys were a peculiarly Terran beast. Gamora was clutching her chest, slightly out of breath, and the one gun Peter couldn’t afford to proof was fried. One of those smoke bombs was probably also a surge charge.

“We need to find Rocket,” Peter grumbled. “Like, two minutes ago.”

“I… require a break,” replied Gamora, panting. “Although I could be useful and keep an eye on Shenna over here. He’s not much for fighting anyway.” Gamora was right- with his henchmen out, and Shenna bound, stripped down to check for squirreled away weaponry, Gamora could handle anything, even in her weakened state 

And if Rocket were feral, Peter would probably need Drax’s help. Could he run back to the ship and grab Groot? Would a feral Rocket still know his best friend’s scent?

Fortunately, searching took only moments; Rocket was prostrate on the floor of the compound, tongue lolling out of his mouth, unmoving other than the visible rise and fall of his chest.

“He is breathing, and his eyes are open,” Drax noted, checking Rocket’s heartbeat for anomalies. “I will carry our quarry back to the brig and secure him; you should carry Rocket and allow Gamora the recovery she requires.” With that, he turned tail and heaved an irate mid-tier smuggler on his shoulders, and stomped back to the Milano.

Peter carefully scooped up Rocket in his arms; it was like carrying a stuffed animal. A very, very heavy stuffed animal. Gamora would be better at patching up Rocket than he, and wouldn’t be able to do much until her own senses returned to normal for her HUD and enhanced visual abilities. It was very likely Rocket would need some sort of operation.

Peter kicked out a rolling chair next to where Gamora was sitting, composing herself, and slumped into it, gently cradling Rocket’s prone form.

“My functions are slowly repairing themselves,” she said simply. “But Rocket, how does he fare?”

Peter looked down at Rocket, tongue still laughably lolling from his mouth, drool pooling down Peter’s arm, and noticed he was blinking. Furiously. _Rocket wasn’t comatose. He was aware and communicating…?_

“Slow down, Rocket,” Peter said, as it dawned on him that Rocket was trying to signal with Extranational Light Code. Two lights on a ship, clicked on and off, independent of language. If translation was down, or if comms didn’t work, the blinking lights could make certain preset phrases any spacefarer either knew or had a logbook to translate for. Rocket was using his eyes (or more accurately, eyelids)- the only part of him that wasn’t enhanced in some fashion- to try and ‘talk’.

 **DON’T UNDERSTAND** , Rocket blinked out slowly.

“His translator must be electronic instead of bio-organic,” Peter sad to Gamora, as she stood up and stretched herself. “Either that, or he’s confused and running on autopilot. But he definitely flashed me “I don’t understand” in ELC.”

“ELC?” she asked, quizzically. Right. Gamora would never have tried to flag down another ship in distress; she probably wouldn’t even know it. Would Drax? Peter supposed Groot did, but he was too small to help with any care Rocket would need and too dumb (in the original sense of the word, not meant as a slight on his intellect) to express Rocket’s needs to the rest of the crew.

“Ship code,” Peter said, as he stood up, still clutching Rocket carefully to his chest. “He’s awake in here, and trying to signal with his eye blinks.”

“Only Rocket could think of such a workaround,” Gamora mused as she cracked her back. “I am as healed as I need to be. Let us return to the ship and see if we can’t get Rocket online.” 

She turned her head back, addressing Rocket as the two of them walked carefully out of the shelled compound. “Rocket, if you can understand me, we’ve got you.”

 **ACKNOWLEDGED** , Rocket blinked back.

* * *

“Can you understand me now?” Peter asked Rocket, after he’d propped Rocket’s slumped, vegetative body upright in what he hoped was a comfortable position.

 **YES** , Rocket responded.

Peter shook his head. Words like “Yes”, “No”, “Acknowledged”, and “Danger”, as well as some short phrases were in ELC, but it was meant for emergency ship communication, and wasn’t a language. How was Rocket going to tell them he was hungry or thirsty? Or in pain? Peter could at least get some yes-or-no answers out of him, as the four of them sat in a circle around Rocket, Gamora and Drax sharing a copy of Peter’s battered old ELC guide between them and Groot chirping worriedly at Rocket, trying to push himself closer, despite still being in a pot about half Rocket’s size.

“Were you in confusion when you got hit?” Peter asked.

**YES**

“Are you feeling any pain?”

**NO. YES. PLAGUE ON BOARD PLEASE WEAR HAZMAT SUIT AND DECONTAMINATE.**

Oh great. Rocket was using some kind of code within his code, given the limited vocabulary at his disposal.

“That sequence was unusually long,” Drax commented. “I am not sure I will be able to find what was written.”

“He said ‘Plague on board, please wear hazmat suit and decontaminate,” Peter replied, probably unhelpfully. “In the “Reasons for Distress” section, but I can’t remember the page number.”

Groot squeaked, almost angrily, given his size, and began pointing.

“Friend Rocket, I highly doubt that anything that ails you would affect my physiology. Or it would have already, as we share such cramped quarters,” Drax said, smiling.

Gamora frowned. “I think he’s asking to be cleaned up,” she said. “No offense, Rocket, but you look positively filthy. I can run some hot water for you. 

**YES. NO.**

Pause. 

**YES. PLAGUE ON BOARD PLEASE WEAR HAZMAT SUIT AND DECONTAMINATE. YES. INCOMING METEOR SHOWER. PLEASE BE CAUTIOUS.**

So they were close, but not quite there.

“Rocket, you could have, I don’t know, **_shared this with us_** maybe, before you got turned into a stuffed animal?” Peter said, annoyed, but no rise in his voice. It was hard to really be irate when Rocket was just sitting there, stuck inside his own unmoving body.

**ACKNOWLEDGED. UNEXPECTED ION STORM.**

“An ion storm would also knock out unshielded electronics,” Drax commented. “You are apologizing for not sharing your code sooner, before an EMP blast? 

**YES.**

“Apology accepted,” Peter said, gently reaching out to poke Rocket, hearing an odd _squish_. Oh. So _that_ was the difference between the “decontaminate” and “meteor shower” phrases. It made sense in hindsight. If there was one thing Peter remembered from hospitals, it was the unfortunate reality of his mother with a bedpan.

“All right, man, I’ve got you, OK?” Peter said. “I’ll get you cleaned up as you need, since Groot really can’t do that.”

**ACCEPTABLE BARGAIN.**

Peter carefully cradled Rocket horizontally and brought him to the larger of the two heads on the ship. In hindsight, he didn’t need teething toys, he realized.

He should have bought diapers.


End file.
